days,--they are too much pampered and too
much flattered. Yet, with it all, I daresay they are often miserable."

"It must be pretty hard to be miserable on twenty or thirty thousand a
year!" said Miss Tranter.

"You think so? Now, I should say it was very easy. For when one has
everything, one wants nothing."

"Well, isn't it all right to want nothing?" she queried, looking at him
inquisitively.

"All right? No!--rather all wrong! For want stimulates the mind and body
to work, and work generates health and energy,--and energy is the pulse
of life. Without that pulse, one is a mere husk of a man--as I am!" He
doffed his cap again. "Thank you for all your friendliness. Good-bye!"

"Good-bye! Perhaps I shall see you again some time this way?"

"Perhaps--but----"

"With your friend?" she suggested.

"Ay--if I find my friend--then possibly I may return. Meanwhile, all
good be with you!"

He turned away, and began to ascend the path indicated across the moor.
Once he looked back and waved his hand. Miss Tranter, in response, waved
her piece of knitting. Then she went on clicking her needles rapidly
through a perfect labyrinth of stitches, her eyes fixed all the while on
the tall, thin, frail figure which, with the assistance of a stout
stick, moved slowly along between the nodding daisies.

"He's what they call a mystery," she said to herself. "He's as true-born
a gentleman as ever lived--with a gentleman's ways, a gentleman's voice,
and a gentleman's hands, and yet he's 'on the road' like a tramp! Well!
there's many ups and downs in life, certainly, and those that's rich
to-day may be poor to-morrow. It's a queer world--and God who made it
only knows what it was made for!"

With that, having seen the last of Helmsley's retreating figure, she
went indoors, and relieved her feelings by putting Prue through her
domestic paces in a fashion that considerably flurried that small damsel
and caused her to wonder, "what 'ad come over Miss Tranter suddint, she
was that beside 'erself with work and temper!"

CHAPTER IX

It was pleasant walking across the moor. The July sun was powerful, but
to ageing men the warmth and vital influences of the orb of day are
welcome, precious, and salutary. An English summer is seldom or never
too warm for those who are conscious that but few such summers are left
to them, and David Helmsley was moved by a devout sense of gratitude
that on this fair and tranquil morning he was